


Drunk On You

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Boners, Cas is a grumpy drunk, Drunken silliness, First Kiss, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after 99 Problems. Team Free Will gets trashed. Sam contemplates the awesomeness of ceilings, Cas is grumpy, and Dean is generally amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk On You

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by karmascars, thank you! ^_^
> 
> Not sure where this came from. Just felt like random, drunken sassy. Sassy is such an under-appreciated pairing. :(

When Sam drank for no other reason than to get completely smashed – which, admittedly, was very rarely – he turned into one of two people. He was either the miserable, over-sharing emo kid that Dean was always accusing him of being, or the giggly, happy snuggle addict who loved _everything._

A hundred miles, another run-down motel, and so many hours after Dean killed the Whore of Babylon with a weapon he shouldn't have been able to use, Castiel appeared with an armload of tequila and Bailey's (a combination Dean was still giving the angel shit for two hours later). Sam had been so, so certain, as he tipped back that first bottle of blue agave, that he would wind up lying on the floor contemplating the dark insanity that was their lives.

He did end up lying on the floor, but there were no dark ponderings of any kind. Instead, he was grinning like an idiot at the ceiling. Ceilings were  _awesome._ This one had hairline cracks in the ancient, yellowing paint that led straight to a corner full of intricate, wispy spiderwebs. Sam liked wet spiderwebs best. The water made them shiny and pristine, like glass. Wet glass bottles, yeah... wait, where the hell was his bottle...

Dean set the tequila he'd claimed for himself down on the old table with a hollow _thump_. He was leaning back in his chair, legs thrown out in a loose sprawl, body lax. His eyes were heavy, weary, and Sam knew that Dean wasn't affected by alcohol like he used to be. There was more than a little amusement there, however, when he chuckled and shook his head at the way Sam was spread out like a drunken starfish all over the little space between the end of the beds and the wall. 

“Cas!” Sam yelled suddenly. Dean was great and all, but he wasn't the alcohol Sam's now flailing hand was searching for. He flapped it in the general direction of the morose angel slowly oozing off the end of the nearest bed. “Gimme m're arsh... Irshh, uh... sweet stuff! More sweet stuff!”

A bottle was slapped into his waiting hand. Sam grinned up at the squinting glare Castiel was tipping down at him. Cas was a grumpy drunk. Grumpy and insulting. In his current state, Sam thought it was downright adorable. 

“That's the last bottle,” Castiel said, far too clearly.

“How much've you had?” Sam asked. It seemed like an important question. Very important. He clumsily unscrewed the cap and tried to drink while still lying down, which was about as effective as trying to behead a vampire by tugging on its hair. He flopped heavily onto his side and attempted to hack up every organ in his body. Then he just lay there for a little while, breathing in the musty scent of the old carpet until his eyes quit watering and the whole mess became stupidly funny. He snickered at himself, petting the bottle absently with loose fingers as he tried to haul himself upright. 

“Not enough,” Castiel said abruptly, sourly, despite the fact that he was the one who drank most of it. He grabbed the back of Sam's shirt and hauled him up so that he was leaning against the end of the bed, like the angel was irritated by how slow and clumsy and generally _human_ Sam was being. Then he disappeared.

“Hey!” Sam glared accusingly at the spot Castiel had occupied just seconds ago. “Where'd our angel go?”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. Despite the exhaustion and the “don't say yes to Michael” issue still hanging heavy around his shoulders, he looked a little lighter, and little more relaxed than he had in a while. Maybe it was just the alcohol. Sam grinned hugely at him anyway, because Dean was his brother and he loved him and oops, he said that out loud. 

“Dude,” Dean choked out around a barely-smothered laugh. “You're plastered. Lightweight.”

“Shhhutup,” Sam slurred. He took a swig of his Bailey's and ignored Dean's snickering at that, too. Even drunk, Sam was sick of Dean's need to put a gender to alcohol and food and so many other stupid things. 

Castiel abruptly reappeared in the center of the bed, clutching so many bottles against his chest that they overflowed and tumbled from his arms to the floor. One landed between Sam's legs, and the upturned label told him it was some kind of chocolate liqueur. Dean immediately began snickering again. Castiel sat bolt upright, all the fury his kind possessed sparking in his eyes. He pointed a finger straight at Dean, and wow, his fingers were long. Really long. And kinda pretty. Were fingers supposed to be pretty?

“Be quiet,” Castiel snapped. His brow furrowed in a deep, pissy glare that only succeeded in making Dean laugh harder. “I brought you whiskey.” He stood up, smooth until he actually hit the floor and began to sway like a sailor. He clutched two bottles in his hands and used them like weights, holding them evenly on either side of his body as he stumbled to Dean and set them both down in front of him. “Drink your masculine whiskey,” Castiel muttered. The words sent Sam into a fit of laughter so abrupt and intense his stomach cramped. “Even if flavor and alcohol percentage has nothing to do with gender,” the angel added.

“It so does,” Dean protested. “Your education is just lacking.”

“It does _not!_ ” Sam announced loudly, thrusting his index finger into the air like that somehow proved his point. “I'll tell the whole _world_ 'bout your love of Cosmos!”

Dean's expression instantly went from amused to mortified. Sam grinned hugely at this accomplishment and took another drink to celebrate. It was so sweet he nearly gagged, the taste of Irish Cream too thick in his mouth. He reached for the chocolate stuff instead. 

There was suddenly an angel on his legs. Sam blinked a few times just to make sure. He tipped the bottle back and took a few swigs, but when he lowered the bottle Castiel was still there. The backs of the angel's knees were resting over Sam's right shin, his head lolling against Sam's left knee. He pawed at the bottle in Sam's hand until Sam gave it to him, and somehow managed to drink like that without drowning like Sam nearly had earlier. 

“Sam,” Castiel said as he lowered the bottle. “Your brother is aggravating.” 

Sam snickered at the eye-rolling _that_ caused. Dean took an exaggeratedly posh sip from his whiskey and pretended they didn't exist.

“Yeah, he is,” Sam sighed. “But you love him anyway.”

“Yes, but that isn't the point,” Castiel said vehemently. Even as drunk as he was, Sam didn't miss the look of shock on Dean's face. They needed to tell Dean they loved him more often, Sam thought. “The point is he is aggravating. And so is your hair.”

Sam blinked once. Twice. A third time. Nope, that still didn't make sense. “Huh?”

“Your hair, Sam,” Castiel said slowly, very clearly, and he gestured with the bottle at Sam's long hair. “It is aggravating. Like your brother. No, not like your brother. I don't want to pet your brother.”

“Huh?” Sam repeated intelligently. He took the bottle back from Cas and downed over half of it in one go. Whatever was happening, he wasn't drunk enough for it. 

Instead of answering, Castiel reached up and swatted at Sam's hair. It took a few clumsy tries, but after a moment he was stroking his fingers through it, slow and firm and kind of nice, actually. Sam let out a contented little sound and tipped his head forward so Cas could reach it better. 

“Really, Cas? You're going to do this now?” Dean groaned, exasperated and amused and kind of horrified all at once. 

“Be quiet,” Castiel repeated. “I'm petting your brother.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Amusement apparently won out because Dean was laughing, shaking his head and tipping the bottle back to drain the last of the whiskey. “Dude, seriously, you were going to wait til I was gone, remember?”

“G'ne f'r what?” Sam tried very hard to glare at his own tongue and its complete uselessness. All he succeeded in doing was thoroughly crossing his eyes and making himself giggle like a little kid. 

“Cas thinks you're a pretty princess,” Dean said with a weirdly fond roll of his eyes. 

Castiel let his head roll so that he was facing Dean and snapped, “ _You're_ the pretty princess.”

Sam couldn't breathe. Oh god, Sam could not  _breathe!_ He slumped over on his side, alcohol spilling everywhere as he wheezed and sputtered and tried desperately to draw breath around his hysterical laughter. Dean looked absolutely outraged, but it wasn't so much Dean's admittedly delightful discomfort as it was the fact that Castiel was apparently catching on to the very human art form of the redundant comeback. Sam managed to draw in a gasping breath and tried very hard to hug the angel sprawled over his legs with limbs that felt too loose and heavy to move properly. After some pretty spectacular wriggling and squirming, he wound up with an armload of Castiel's warm waist and decided it was actually pretty nice.

Castiel craned his head up and stared at Sam with an odd, pensive expression. “Sam. You are... very close to certain parts of my anatomy that find you distractingly pleasing.”

Sam blinked, way too far gone to try and decipher that particular message. He rested his cheek against Castiel's almost-flat but surprisingly soft belly. He hugged tighter and then tried to let go, his back screaming in protest at the position he'd twisted himself into. An attempt to right himself caused him to slide sideways, and something hard bumped his chin. 

Oh. Certain parts. 

“You have a hard-on!” Sam screeched. Dean slapped a hand over his eyes and quietly begged someone to kill him, but Sam was too busy with the erection rubbing against his chin. There was an erection on his chin! And it was apparently for him! 

Wait. It was for him? Sam lifted himself up and stared down at the now obvious bulge in Castiel's black slacks. Castiel glared down at him, or maybe he was glaring at his dick, Sam couldn't tell. It _was_ being rather insistent. It was probably annoying.

“You have a hard-on,” Sam repeated more calmly, and then he giggled, “ _For me_ ,” and tried to awkwardly hug Cas again because an angel thought he was attractive, and he was so drunk that it was apparently the best thing that had ever happened.

Castiel sighed heavily, his face pinched into a put-upon expression that Sam thought was just too cute. He really needed to kiss it. He dumped Castiel on the floor and slithered up until he could kiss his nose, then the wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

“And I'm gone!” Dean yelped suddenly. “You kids have fun!”

Sam waved distractedly. He had an angel to smother in kisses.

“Sam.” Castiel's voice was low, almost a growl. “Sam!”

“Hmmmmm?” Sam managed to lift his head and blink sleepily at Castiel. He'd definitely had too much to drink. 

“As much as I appreciate the attention,” Castiel said slowly, and Sam didn't miss the new, barely-there warmth in his voice. “You are in no condition to consent.”

Sam pouted. His pout got him places. Even Dean would always cave to the pout eventually. Castiel was made of stone or steel or something, though, because all he did was roll his eyes and brush soft fingertips over Sam's face. “Put that away,” he demanded, like Sam's expression was a mask he could just toss into the closet. 

Sam deepened it instead. When Castiel was left unswayed, he dove down and kissed his nose again. “Okay,” he said. Then, hopefully, he added, “Kissing?”

Castiel sighed. “All right.”

~

Sam woke up with a hangover that was really more of a full-body ache, and an armful of angel with eager, kiss-swollen lips.

He could have panicked. He could have blamed it on the alcohol, or his stupid fascination with the fact that Castiel was an angel. He could have wondered how long Dean had known Castiel apparently had a _thing_ for him, and why this important piece of information had been kept a secret. 

Or he could realize that the Apocalypse was now, and the world might end tomorrow, and just screw it all to... well, anywhere but Hell. 

He kissed Castiel until they both forgot how to speak.

~

END


End file.
